Day'e Long Journey into Light

by Latebloomnriter

Follow up to "Dawn of a New Daye"

Daye's Long Journey into Light

Note: To the best of my knowledge and belief, this story is fair use of copyrighted material, as there is no commercial use and no loss of potential market or value of the original material will occur.

I created a fictional actor. The name came from my imagination. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, or another fictional character, is purely coincidental.

Follow up to "Dawn of a New Daye."

Tom Venezio, star of the gritty action series Vegas Deal, hadn't minded the introduction of the Nick Raines character at first. It seemed a whim of the shows' creators to indulge their love of Casablanca. The name was originally supposed to be "Rick" after the Bogart character, but that seemed to close to the original and the producers and network didn't want any trouble from Warner Brothers. So Rick became Nick, and "Raines" remained a blatant homage to scene stealing actor Claude Raines, who played the "poor, corrupt official" in Casablanca who shared the witty classic lines with Bogart's Rick Blaine.

Tom initially got good material from the shared scenes, so he had no concern when Sonny Daye, playing Nick Raines, popped up in a scene or two in other shows. No, it was the "and-as" that set Tom off. Sonny had minor billing at first, and the "with Sonny Daye" after the initial credits seemed like no big deal. Then Sonny's fan mail increased, and he, not Tom, was invited repeatedly to chat with Johnny and Merv. Tom began counting his lines, and Sonny's, and sure enough a shift was occurring. Then, at the start of the new season, the "and-as" appeared. Tom appeared as usual in the top spot, but, then, at the end of the opening credits, was the billing which placed Sonny prominently above any other regular except Tom: "And Sonny Daye as Nick Raines."

This was intolerable. Tom had knocked around TV, film, and theatre for years in small rolls, none befitting his talent-he came from Yale Drama, after all, so now, when finally being recognized for his talent. He was not about to share high status and acclaim with any other cast member on his show. Something would have to be done.

The something that would be done sprang to Tom's mind, after scowling at the latest talk show appearance. The talk show host, after a couple of matter of fact words about Sonny's past, made a remark which proved telling.

"I bet you're glad you never faced Judge Hardcastle." Hardcastle was well known now, after Supreme Court consideration, a mayoral bid, and guest stint on "You Be the Judge."

Sonny snorted. "Oh man, that's right. He hates my guts."

The host picked up the thought. "Tell us about that. How do you know Hardcastle?"

There was a flash of alarm. "Oh, well, I mean, he wouldn't approve, I didn't mean I actually knew him-" He was rescued by a timely commercial break.

Tom also picked up the thought. Sonny was plainly dodging. There was perhaps more of a history to Sonny Daye and Milton C. Hardcastle. A history to be uncovered.

Tom cornered Sonny the next time they saw each other on set. "Nice job with that, deflecting the Hardcastle dig."

Sonny snorted. "Oh man, got that right. He really does hate my guts."

"So you actually do know him? Was he one of your judges, that-ah"

"No, no nothing like that. He hates me 'cause of my kid."

Tom played along. This was interesting. "Oh, you have a kid? I thought sure I heard you didn't have any." He knew damned well that Sonny claimed to be childless.

Sonny fidgeted. "Yeah, I got a kid. He's had some trouble, that's how I know Hardcastle. I don't mention it because I don't want to embarrass him any." There. That was good quick thinking on his part.

Tom nodded casually, like it was no big deal . He spoke casually again in his next interview, in reaction to a question about Sonny. "Oh yeah, he's doing great on the show, and you're right about being glad he's not in front of Hardcastle. They really don't get along-some trouble about Sonny's son." Like tossing chum to sharks.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Sonny had not denied the story when the first reporter reached him. He figured Mark would be proud. "Yeah, I got a kid. He likes his privacy, so we don't make a deal out of it. Hardcastle? Yeah, we met, but don't know each other well. You can ask him."

The distinguished Judge could not be reached for comment. There wasn't much of a story for a legitimate news source to follow. An illegitimate source, though found something to chew and spew on.

The reporter from the reputable-most of the time-actually some of the time-newspaper pitched the idea of following up to his editor. The editor balked. Possible litigation from a very prominent and successful attorney-turned judge was considered too risky. Better to stick with reliably shady politicians or misbehaving celebrities.

The reporter from the generally unreputable-but-occasionally-with good-scoops tabloid had better luck. "Daye's from Jersey, right? See what turns up there."

What turned up in conversations his Atlantic City contacts was that Sonny Daye was actually of assistance to law enforcement. The reason for his involvement was revealed to be a son, named Mark McCormick. It seemed to that one Judge Milton C. Hardcastle also participated in apprehending some criminals.

"Mark McCormick," the editor tapped her fingers thoughtfully. "Where do I know that name?" The tapping increased, and evidently triggered a memory. "I remember now! Wasn't there a Mark McCormick involved in that Kiki Cutter and Sammy O'Connell mess? We got a few good stories out of that."

"Now that you mention it, yeah. It's not that unusual a name though. Could be a different guy."

"Check on it."

Checking a variety of public records suggested Mark McCormick, Sonny Daye, and Milton C. Hardcastle could generate a few more good stories.

"I still want to follow up on a few things, like how Hardcastle fits in, and what McCormick is doing now. We can stretch this out, bring in the Cutter angle if we get some traction." The reporter was intrigued at not making something up completely.

"No time for that now. We have a deadline."

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

He watched closely, but unobtrusively. Hardcastle was practiced at this sort of surveillance. He had done some of this work after being promoted from motorcycle cop, and it came back to him. He had to know. He moved closer, stealthily-he had to know..

"Juuudge, will you give it a rest!"

Hardcastle had to know which case law McCormick was studying.

"I'm not overdoing anything! How are you supposed to study when you're planning to take off just as the semester starts to go tearing off in that plastic coffin at 200 miles per hour!"

"You're getting hysterical like a cartoon character. And I can go off because it is just the start, I can make up the work, and driving in the 24 hours of Daytona is a huge honor."

Hardcastle uttered some incomprehensible grumbles, then finished off indignantly. "..and I'm not acting like Yosemite Sam! You want to stop now, how about you get some groceries?"

"Okay, Malibu Milt. I'm off. Clearly you need more sugar."

HHHHHHHHH

The customer ahead of Mark in the checkout line fortunately had a lot of purchases. It gave Mark time to surreptitiously eye the headlines in the scandal rags. He was always curious to see how Elvis and Cher's love child was doing, where the aliens landed, and Princess Diana's latest "look." He started when he saw the headline. It screamed SONNY DAYE'S SECRET SHAME!

There was a picture. Of Mark. The most unflattering photo ever taken, it was of his mug shot after the arrest for stealing his car. His hair was unkempt, he needed a shave, and the rage he was feeling from the arrest fairly jumped off the page. He snatched a copy, threw a bill at the cashier and bolted out the door, leaving his cart behind, all thoughts of sugar-laden cereal forgotten.

The angle of the story was that Sonny, having turned his life around, had to rescue his convicted felon of a son and get him to straighten up, while helping the Atlantic City police bring some career criminals to justice. The brief mention of Hardcastle suggested that he too was "after" Mark, who the judge had sent to prison.

Mark was reeling. It was happening again. Just when it looked like he had a bright future, something happened to darken his dreams. Like when he had the Outlaw Series championship in the bag, only to lose in the last lap from sabotage. When Kiki dumped him for Sammy. When Flip died, on the verge of giving Mark the big break of competing in the Coyote. When the Trans Am ride turned out to be part of a criminal operation. When his race prize money was stolen by a couple of crazy robbers. Now, again, when he was doing well in law classes and planning to race in the 24-hours of Daytona. It was happening again.

His confidence and optimism about the future swirled down the drain faster than a drowning Ty-D-Bol Man. Mark turned to the skill he could rely on for reassurance.

"EJ? Mark. Can you open the track tonight?"

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMm

Mark drove his warmup laps, then increased his speed. The track was short, so great concentration was needed to prevent spinning out as the speed increased. Mark pushed the Coyote to its limit, and the limits of the track, lap after lap, until the effort of the vital concentration excised the trouble from his mind, giving it a respite until he could face the problem more clearly. It worked, mostly, as it always did.

HHHHHHHHHHH

Damn kid. How hard was it to get a few groceries? But no, McCormick was hours overdue. Either something terrible had happened or the kid met some girl in the snack aisle, and was indulging in some nibbling of another kind. No reports of trouble had reached Hardcastle, he was leaning toward the grocery mess. Cleanup would be needed back at Gulls-Way. He was close to not worrying more when the phone rang.

"Hello, Judge Hardcastle. This is EJ Corlette."

"Yeah EJ, what is it?"

"Just wanted you to know that Skid's here at the track. He's goin' around like this is Indy and he's trying to block Andretti on the turns. Maybe you should come on out here. I think he might need it. Judge, did you see the tabloid article? No? Well, here's what it said.."

He found McCormick sitting on the low wall around the track. The kid spared only a brief, short glance his way. "You okay?"

"How did you find me?"

"Oh, EJ called. Thought you might want another friend around."

"He should mind his own business. And no, I'm not okay. Why would I be?"

"Oh, sure. I understand. This is about the worst thing that has ever happened to you."

Mark glared at him.

"I mean, an article in some scandal rag, that's head and shoulders above losing your mother, doing time, getting shot-"

"All right! You made your point. It's just that things were going so good, and this brings up all the old trouble. It feels like I'll never get past it."

"Kiddo, if there's one thing I've learned about this news business, is that fame is fleeting. It will pass. I never get asked for autographs from You Be the Judge anymore."

"Yeah, but this latest fame needs to pass faster than the Coyote on a straight."

Hrdcastle looked Mark in the eye and said seriously, "Well, the good thing is, the press isn't redbones."

"What? What the hell is a redbone?"

"The redbone is a coonhound. Like any good coonhound, they find a scent and track it, no matter what, keeping on baying until they have that coon stuck in a tree. Reporters just don't stay as focused as a good coonhound."

"Sure feels like they're stuck on my trail."

"I doubt they really are, but what they need to be like, then, are not cold-nosed coonhounds, but Treeing Walkers."

"Cold-nosed coonhound? Redbone is confusing enough, but what the double hell is a Treeing Walker? I guess it's different than a Flowering Runner?"

"A Treeing Walker, wise guy, is a hot nosed coonhound. They'll leave an older 'cold' scent to follow a fresher one."

"So in other words, they'll find something else to write about soon enough. How do we speed that along?"

"We speed that along by not act like there are secrets to uncover. Act like it's no big deal. You should be good at that. Just lie and fake it."

"I hate that you didn't get credit, Judge. You helped me turn my life around, not Sonny."

"Don't get sappy. I'll live."

Mark nodded and rose. His voice was determined. "Come on, Hardcase. Let's go home. We need to rescue a little drowning man from your toilet."

HHHHHHHHHHH

Mark was reminded that, besides driving, he did have another skill which rarely failed to let him down. He could lie through his teeth to try and get out of trouble. He assumed a nonchalant air when he returned to class he shrugged off the jibes directed his way by the classmates he had irritated, or outshown in debate. "Hey, ya can't pick your relatives," he said. And when asked about the denial of his existence, just raised his hands. "Parents-they say the darndest things! He doesn't want people to know he has a son my age. Wants to seem younger. Cheaper than a face lift!" He mocked the unflattering photograph. "My ultimate bad hair day." Rigors of class diverted the attention, and Mark soon faced no more embarrassing remarks other than if he knew what Sonny's smokin' hot female costar was like.

Neither Hardcastle nor McCormick returned any calls regarding Sonny Daye. Sonny himself never called.

Next stop, Daytona.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

The network honchos contacted Sonny. "There's some good press about you helping to straighten out your son. We want to capitalize on that."

Sonny squirmed. "Yeah, well I did what I could. The story should die soon." This was part statement, part question. He hoped it would be over soon.

"I hear he's actually a race car driver, and will be at the 24 hours of Daytona. We think we could get some good shots of you and him together." This was neither request nor idle statement. It was an order.

MMMM

Mark expected more digs at the track, but these were digs with a purpose: to unsettle a rival. Mark kept his standard race swagger and called upon the nonchalance he had faked in class.

"Hey, McCormick, always knew you were a bastard."

"Yeah, you just didn't know it was meant literally." A smirk and a strut were enough. People had other things to think about.

Mark was scheduled to drive the first shift, then turn the Coyote over to Pat Sheldon, who would be followed then by Tommy Badman before starting the cycle over again. Events did not go as planned.

It was raining. Mark remained confident behind the wheel of the Coyote, confident of their capabilities. Other cars were the challenge, and Mark found himself executing some quick maneuvers to avoid slower cars he was lapping, and the prototypes which were slipping and skidding in front of him. He could handle one at a time. He was swerving close to the grass to avoid one of the prototypes when its driver failed to correct its spin, the car collided with the slower stock Porsche just in front, already into its own slide from trying to yield to faster cars. The contact changed both of their directions in front of Mark, and he was hit on the drivers' side, and knocked into the infield, leaving pieces of Coyote red parts scattered across the track.

The caution flag was out. The ambulance was on the way.

Barbara Johnson, managing the Coyote team, found Hardcastle. He had been wandering around, stretching his legs. He had become more than a proficient leaner during Mark's races. He was keeping more of his opinions to himself, but apart from stretching his legs, watched and listened to everything around him.

"Judge, Mark was in a crash. They're taking him in to be checked."

Sonny had enjoyed being greeted by fans. He did not enjoy the overcast skies and rain-too damn much like the Jersey Shore in the off season, and maybe ruining his tailored suit to boot. The network photographer and press representative who had just been at a vending booth came rushing over to get him.

"Sonny! Your son Mark was in an accident! You'll be needed!" Most publicity could be twisted and torqued into good publicity. This would be good from the start.

Cameras were following him. "Sonny Daye, father of Mark McCormick, makes his way to the medical area. What must be going through his mind now."

He was honestly concerned. And there was no route to escape.

MMMMMMMMMM

"Juuuudge, I'm fine. I'll be ready to drive on my next shift, when the car is fixed."

"Fixed?! It's scattered across half the track!"

"It will be back out on the track in less than half an hour. It's a 24 hour race! We can still get a decent placing."

The doctor cleared his throat. "You passed your immediate check, but we'll follow up again before your next turn. If nothing seems to be a problem, I'll clear you to race."

Mark turned to Hardcastle. "See? I'm fine. I was almost done with my turn anyway. Can you get me a burger?"

Hardcastle was on his way to grudgingly comply. Still grumbling to himself to stifle his anxiety, he found himself face to face with Team Sonny: the annoying man himself, some reporters, and a camera crew.

"Hey, Milt, what's happening? How's Mark, is he-?"

They were both fathers, after all. That for a moment softened Hardcastle's response. Sonny would know his son, unlike Hardcastle's boy, would survive.

"He's fine."

"Oh, thank God. Do they need me? I mean, as next of kin."

Now the Judge was bristling, as the cameras rolled. "I'm his next of kin of record. If you want to go back there, okay, but these others don't have credentials to go beyond the line there."

Audiences watching saw Hardcastle walk past and slam his shoulder into Sonny, knocking him aside. It was a cheap shot, not expected of a judge, but Milton C. Hardcastle was many things besides a judge. He was a skirmisher to avenge many wrongs at the Clarence High flagpole; fierce blocker on the basketball court; soldier; cop; and friend to Mark McCormick.

"Sonny, what are you doing here?"

"Hey, hey, Markie, are you ok? Do you need me to do anything?" Please say no. I'm not good at this.

"I'm fine. I was just going out after Hardcastle to get something to eat."

"Oh, yeah, yeah." Sonny struggled. "Look, some reporters followed me, probably want a photo of us."

"I'll speak to the official interviewers, it's part of the gig. But I'm not in the mood for the photo op for your people."

"Well, they want to know how I was there for you."

Mark paused before answering. "I told you once I wouldn't make any promises about what I would say about us. If they ask about how you helped me, turned my life around, inspired me to enter law school, I'll set them straight. It was all Hardcastle. We all know that, right?"

Sonny waited while Mark left and met the member of the commentary team and said a few words. Minor crashes were nothing new. Then there were Sonny's own team, waiting for a quote.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I saw Sonny briefly. Now I've got some other work to do, rest up for my next shift. Thanks."

Mark walked away. Sonny waited a few minutes before leaving the restricted area. "Mark's fine. Yeah, it was a scare, I'm real glad he's doing well." Somewhere, from deep inside, some honor from gut and heart rose to shove aside image, false bravado, and past habits.

"I can't take a lot of credit. It was really Judge Hardcastle."